Do Not Disturb
by Rachel C. Astrid
Summary: Prompt fill for kink meme '13: Castle gets spanked.


Prompt: _**C/B. Castle gets spanked.**_

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**Do Not Disturb**

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He's got an itch on his wrist that's just out of reach. "Beckett, could you just scratch . . ."

"No."

"The . . . okay. Right." He tries again to reach it himself, but his hands are cuffed behind his back in such a way that they're of no use, and dragging his wrist against the smooth skin of his naked back does nothing but lightly massage his sacrum. Even if he were to move from where he stands, he doesn't see anything in their hotel room that he could MacGyver into doing the trick.

But then Beckett swats his bare ass, and the sting is a nice little distraction. She comes to stand in front of him as though just to look at his face. She must like what she sees. She's smiling wickedly, the finest accessory to her skintight leather pants and matching bra and high-heeled boots. "You like that?" She's baiting him, already circling behind him again.

"Well, it's hardly as bad as an itch you can't reach," he replies, the sincerity not quite masking the brat in him.

"Then I guess I'm not doing it right." She grabs his forearm with one hand and pushes his back with the other until he's bending right over his feet.

He cooperates, but that fucker of an itch is back, and she's touching him so close to it that it almost seems inevitable that she'll relieve it for him. Before she can take her hand away from his arm, he whines, "You're so close. Just scratch it—just—right below where you are."

She doesn't. She spanks him again, her bare hand connecting with his right ass cheek with a satisfying slap. She rubs the spot to ease the sting, and he's trapped between begging for more pain and savoring the tenderness of her soothing. It's early yet, though. There's time for soothing later.

"Over already?" he teases, knowing full well about her usual patterns. "Is that all you—"

She comes down hard on him then, left cheek, then right, then left again with a little less intensity. She's building up in increments now, but she hits a level where there's typically a soothing session and bypasses that entirely this time.

He grits out: "You forgot to—"

"I didn't forget."

"Oh." He says the word at least three or four more times at various volumes as she continues to spank him harder, though by the time she finally does pause to soothe his flaming hot skin, it's a not-so-coherent groan. He redeems it with a "Fuck, Kate." He turns his head to look over his shoulder, but he can't quite see her. "How's your hand?"

"Not as red as your ass."

"Aw. You let me finish my sentence. And you answered me. Hey, while you're feeling generous, I've got—"

"Castle," she barks. "Shut. Up."

Well, it was nice while it lasted. And just when he thinks she might let him stand up straight, she goes ballistic on his ass. "Whoa!" Fucking fuck. His ass is on fire and he thinks there might be any number of bad one-liners about that but all he can do is take in the sting and let out the scream over and over and Beckett's got the stamina of—oh, fuck, he can't even make a metaphor like this. He's as good as gone.

It's only her words that bring him back to here and now, and mostly here, because she sounds batshit mad about what he's doing where they are, but then isn't this her fault?

"Castle, are you _trying _to make sure the people in the next room hear us?"

"I didn't realize you were so modest."

She reaches for the little stash they've brought and in no time at all places a ball gag in his mouth and fastens it around his head. "There. I should have done this earlier."

He accepts the ball into his mouth, wasting no time in murmuring around it. His voice is muffled and indistinct but in no way silenced, and he likes that.

What he's less fond of is how quickly he begins to salivate because of the gag, more because of the discomfort of a wet chin than because he doesn't think it's sexy. When Beckett's in charge, he's perfectly willing to play the role of dashing gentleman or drooling Neanderthal, whatever she wants of him.

Speaking of which, she silently coaxes him to straighten his posture again and his back cracks in two places but finds itself in a happy place, so he doesn't attempt to complain but he kind of grunts involuntarily.

"Let's not forget this." Beckett tucks a small silk scarf into his hand so he can drop it in lieu of a safe word. Then she slides her hand along his shaft, and he wants to tell her that he hardly needs a safe gesture if she's just going to play with his cock. But he only squeezes the scarf tighter in his palm, not wanting to risk dropping it accidentally at an inopportune time.

Shit, she feels good. The delicate touch is so much less than he wants, but the contrast between that gentleness and the lingering sting of his ass is so deliciously agonizing. Fleetingly he realizes the itch on his wrist is long gone, buried in a maelstrom of sensation.

She smears his wetness around his tip and then stands at her full heeled height, looking him in the eyes as she traces her finger all along his lips, still wrapped around the ball gag. He can smell his own arousal, but it's Beckett who has his full attention.

She presses against him, his erection kissing her midriff, and wraps her hands behind him to squeeze his ass. It's settled to a subtle burn that he can bear, but he suspects she isn't quite done with him.

He murmurs incoherently around the ball: "What now?"

"Poor baby." She wipes his chin, but it does little to dry the saliva there. "You still want to make noise, even with that gag, hmm? How about we give them something to hear?"

His cock twitches as if to ask, _she means sex, right?_ Loud, breathy moaning and slick skin against slick skin and—

She saunters away toward the entrance of the room. His back is to her but his eyes widen when he hears the distinct sound of the door opening. He knows she would never leave him alone bound and gagged like this, but he can't help but sweat a little at the fact that she may have just risked exposing not only her leather domme wear but also his naked ass to unsuspecting eyes.

But then he hears her footfalls and feels her warmth behind him and then—oh, and then he's biting the gag and trying to remember to breathe because whatever just beat his ass feels like a heavy paddle but it is so not the paddle they bought together. It has the same kind of thud effect rather than a sting, the two major smackegories, but this thud is already unlike any other he's felt and she's only done it once.

"Count," she orders him.

He wants to say he can't say words when she's knocking the wind out of him, and plus, ball gag! But no. He just does his best to obey, announcing each and every one of her strikes with noises approximating numbers and interspersed with groans he can't bite back. "Wuhh. Two. Hee. Four. Fy. Hick. Heh-en. Eight. Ny. Tehh."

He's fairly sure the travelers in the next room wouldn't have heard much of his sorry excuse for counting, or even very much of his grunting and moaning, but he can't say the same for the heavy thud. Tomorrow he'll wear the bruises on his ass like badges of courage.

When it's over, her empty hands unfasten the gag, unlock the cuffs, and free the scarf from his death-grip before finding their way to soothing him again. She beckons him to the bed, pulling up the blankets and sitting up as she lets him lie down on his side with his head resting in her lap.

She gently covers his naked body, protecting him from the inevitable drop in body temperature, and hands him the bottle of water from the nightstand.

"If you were going to spank me so loud, why'd you bother gagging me?"

"We wouldn't want people to hear screaming and think someone was actually being hurt, would we?" His eyes are closed, but he can hear her smile. "Besides. You wouldn't stop talking."

He looks up and narrows his eyes at her, but it's all bluster. He gets off on the discipline all the more when she does it for a reason, even in jest. "By the way," he adds, "what _was_ that?"

She reaches across the bed and shows him the thick plastic sign that she must have taken from the doorknob. "Do you like it?" she asks. "Gotta say, I've never seen one this hard and thick."

He ignores her witchy baiting and turns the makeshift paddle over in his hands to read the words imprinted in the plastic. "Do Not Disturb?"

She grins. "I thought it was appropriate."

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_**A/N:** For those who were wondering, yes, such door-hangers exist in a hotel out there. This is inspired by a true story, though not our own. Between reading the prompt and learning about these heavy duty door-hangers, I just couldn't help but write this. Also hope anon!prompter doesn't mind the additional kinks._


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